So I had a great visit to El Paso, Texas last week. Thanks for the hospitality, ICE and UTEP. And I have a funny to share from the morning of my departure. I was in Texas the night of the primary so I stayed up late watching returns and listening to local commentary on exit polls. But then, around midnight, I realized that I needed to be up at 4 am to get to the airport in time for my flight. I booked a 4:30 am cab, set a wake up call for 4 am, and then tried to drift off to sleep while worrying about oversleeping. Hence, I didn’t really sleep. 4 am came. I shot out of bed, brushed my teeth and then— blackness. The lights went out in my hotel room. I looked through my peep hole. The lights were out everywhere. I called the front desk. The phone rang empty. And then every single horror movie I’ve ever seen or deliberately not seen flashed through my mind. No time to panic because I needed to get ready. Except how do you get ready in the dark. I grabbed my phone, lit up the screen, and held it to my suitcase so I could find my clothes. Dressed and teeth brushed, there really wasn’t more that I could do in the dark to get ready so I packed everything up, steeled my inner-strength and opened the door to have my way with Freddie, Jason, Cujo, and Hannibal and every other scary monster waiting for me. Looking left to right, I couldn’t make out any figures. I creeped down the hall to the stairway, knowing that was where I was going to get my licking. At the bottom of each flight, there was a nook. This is the thing about being a writer. You have enough of an imagination to write the rest of the story. And it is a mucked up imaginatiom all twisted together over time and experience. So I knew what was coming under one of those nooks. And it wasn’t good. I flew down the stairs. Made it into the hallway, sprinted towards the lobby where Frederick, THE IRONY, my cab driver, was waiting. At the airport, I hit the restroom where I suddenly realized that I had no idea what I looked like. And, you know what, I was so relieved that I was alive that I couldn’t imagine how my cowlick or not having on mascara could possibly matter. It didn’t even matter that I had managed to put my underwear on inside out.